The Battle for Blackbird Grace
by conart
Summary: AU: The year is 2153, and it's the day before the highly anticipated year-long deployment of the USS Blackbird Grace. Amidst the usual pre-deployment chaos, a conspiracy threatens the great battleship and the very lives of the soldiers onboard.


Synopsis: Alternate Universe set far into the future: The year is 2153, and it's the day before a national holiday celebrating Military Forces following the great Rebellion of the early 2100s which ended in a rare state of world peace. The Richard 'Triplets': Franklin, Leech, and Artie (students visiting from a Service Academy) take their first steps onto the USS Blackbird Grace – a visit granted as a favor for their father, General Reed Richards, former commander of the USS Grace by Commander Charles Xavier, current commander. After being thrown through a turmoil of "Yes, Sir!"s and "Yes, Ma'am!"s, the three cadets begin to feel excitement for their futures in the USWF Military.

The holiday tomorrow also happens to be the day that the United Sectors Ship (USS) Blackbird Grace launches for its year-long deployment. It also happens to be the last night of 'Ball's Fuck': the ever quiet, alcohol-induced, and under-the-radar Meet n' Greet for several rough individuals. Elsewhere, on this last night, General Charles Xavier expresses several concerns to his executive officer and command sergeant major.

A/N: This story is an ensemble piece that involves several of my favorite characters, but centers mainly around the members of Generation X. I am aware that the rank system used in this story is based on the current US Army. I have several possible explanations for that, the first being that I am solely familiar with the Army. I would also like you to assume that by several hundred years from now, the separate branches of the military will eventually converge into one and thus have only one rank system. One day, I would like to make a prequel to this story. Rated T for serious themes and profanity.

**The Battle for Blackbird Grace  
Chapter I**

_**09:00, 01JUN2153  
USS Blackbird Grace: Briefing Room #4  
FT Houston, United Sectors World Federation**_

At the main airstrip of the FT Houston Space Station, the USS Blackbird Grace was preparing for its upcoming yearlong deployment, nestled among the bustling bodies of crew members gravitating into and out of the ship. Several news crews huddled along the side of the strip just outside the restricted area. Due to the publicity of the deployment, the media were given special passes to enter the military base but only on restricted terms.

Aside from the chaos of preparing for deployment, this morning was generally quite peaceful. The air was crisper than usual for the summer month, and the skies were clear blue. For anyone outside FT Houston, it would be a perfect summer day to spend lazing about somewhere outdoors. Unfortunately, those who dwelled within the ship's armored shell took very little notice.

Just inside the main deck in a twenty-man enclosure labeled "Briefing Room #4", three very serious cadets in blue stood at attention before a highly unusual officer.

"Fresh meat!" First Lieutenant Robert Drake declared excitedly at the young cadets in grey who stood in a straight line before him. "You cadets awake?"

"Yes, Sir!" the three of them barked in unison.

"All right, all right, I believe you!" Drake laughed, as he surveyed their individual files. "Straight from your Plebe year at the Academy, I see. Not even graduated. _Tsk, tsk_. Just here on a trip to please ol' man Richards."

"Yes, Sir!" they replied.

He paced in front them, his boots echoing quite intimidatingly in the briefing room. He peered up at them from the files, taking the time to scrutinize them individually. They all wore the identical navy blue uniform that marked them for what they were: cadets. Every detail on each of their uniforms, from badges and ribbons to nametags, were exactly alike. Despite their identical outerwear, the people inside the uniforms were very, _very _different.

The first one had pink, lumpy skin, with large wide blank eyes and no apparent pupils. On the contrary, the cadet in the middle had very green skin and bore an expression of a very docile nature. Neither the green-skinned boy nor the pink-skinned had any visible hair. And the last one was the only human-looking individual of the bunch. His hair, blonde in this case, was cut short to strict military standards. Nevertheless, despite their physical differences, each nametag displayed quite clearly their common surname: Richards.

The name Richards itself was a legend from the World Civil War that raged on from 2122 through 2140. Commander Reed Richards was the former Commanding Officer of the Battleship USS Blackbird Grace, leading a rebellion army against the diabolical world dictator and slave trader who went by the call sign Apocalypse. Commander Richards's victory marked the end of what was deemed 'The Age of Apocalypse'. The three young cadets who stood before 1LT Drake today were General Richards's sons.

"Name?" Drake inquired the first one, the pink one, tapping the files in front of him with a pen.

"Cadet Arthur Richards, Sir!" the young man declared in response, his arm still held up in a stiff salute.

"Ah, yes," Drake remarked brightly as he opened one of the files. "Artie, is it? Says here you used to be mute?"

"Yes, sir!" Artie replied, with just a hint of hesitation. "I lost the ability to speak upon mutation, but my father was able to help me later on, Sir!"

"Right," Drake raised an eyebrow at the unwarranted explanation. "Moving on. _You_." He gestured toward the green-skinned cadet in the middle. "Name?"

"Cadet Leech Richards, Sir!" he declared proudly.

"I love the enthusiasm in this room," Drake remarked with amusement. "I can't get this kind of _decent_ respect around here these days. Should consider keepin' you boys permanently!" He turned toward the last one, the only normal-looking one: blonde with the blue eyes. "That makes you Franklin?"

"Cadet Franklin Richards, Sir!" Franklin replied, in the exact same tone Artie and Leech had used.

"Well, now that's actually really creepy, Cadets," Drake remarked. "The way you guys sound exactly the same, despite looking _completely_ different."

"Sorry, Sir!" they declared in unison.

"A_nyway_," Drake continued with a raised eye brow, "I'm going to go ahead and pretend that you're _not_ actually a badly cloned army of evil minions, and we'll continue with the briefing."

"Yes, Sir!" came their unified response.

"For Pete's sake, _at ease_, Cadets!" Drake rolled his eyes at them when they didn't laugh at his joke. They assumed their at ease positions, hands behind their backs and staring straight ahead, waiting patiently to be briefed.

"Yes, Sir," they replied in unison. Drake was relieved that at least this time they were not yelling.

"And start laughing when I make jokes," Drake demanded.

"Yes, Sir," came their awkward and staggered reply.

"Tough crowd," Drake muttered, wondering which Academy had sucked the fun right out of these kids. "All right, I'll make this as quick and painless as possible, since it seems you guys will have to put up with enough bullshit for your stay here. You guys are all here because your father wanted you to witness the actual launch of a Battleship from a first person perspective before running off for another year at the Academy, am I right?"

"Yes, Sir," they replied.

"You know the basics, but I'll recap it anyway. This is your ship, the grand and beautiful USS Blackbird Grace! Be proud of her and every ship you are ever assigned to, because she'll be your lifeline for every deployment.

"First, you've got the top dogs of the ship: USS B. Grace's Commanding Officer and Executive Officer. They are Colonel Charles Xavier and Lieutenant Colonel Scott Summers in consecutive order. CO's call sign is Professor, and ol' Summers is Cyclops. Command Sergeant Major of the ship is James Logan; call him Wolverine on the airwaves. Don't forget who's who or I promise it'll get confusing."

"Yes, Sir," they replied again, each looking like they were trying to ingrain the massive amount of information into their memories somehow.

Drake paused for effect before continuing, "And remember, no matter what else anyone on this ship says is most important – remember _this_ above all – You are not part of this crew unless you do your _best_ to annoy the hell outta Summers!"

When they only blinked up at him confusedly, he said quite seriously, "That was an _order_, Cadets."

"Yes, Sir!" they agreed, despite looking hesitant.

"Continuing on," Drake lectured, not acknowledging that he had advised three young cadets to piss off an XO, "Below the primary staff, you've got four very large battalions, which in turn are broken down by companies, then platoons and squads – though Air Force is set up a little differently."

A door opened, interrupting 1LT Drake's speech. A large, burly man with an intimidating frown appeared. A very distinct and high-ranking badge glinted in the light. "First Sergeant Bishop: First Sergeant of Alpha Company, Charlie Battalion," Drake announced importantly.

"Sir," Bishop greeted, eyes darting back and forth between Drake and the cadets, who stood at attention. He frowned suddenly, and said, "Corrupting young minds _again,_ LT?" he asked through slanted eyes.

"Of course not, Bish," Drake replied with a positively demonic smile.

Bishop suppressed an eye roll and took a seat behind the cadets. "Continue on, Drake."

"Right," Drake nodded. "Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, Battalions…. Alpha Battalion, that's Air Force. Bravo Battalion is Air Defense. And then you've got the awesomest and bestest profession, Infantry and Ground Forces in Charlie Battalion – of which I am the best Platoon Leader under A-Company that you'll ever find on this side of the galaxy!"

After a pointed glare from Bishop, Drake cleared his throat and continued, "_Ahem -_ anyway, Delta Battalion holds all the necessary support companies: mechanics, cooks, engineers, maintenance, and etcetera. Put all the Battalions and Companies together and you've got yourself a fully functional Battleship, my friends. Understand?"

"Yes, Sir!" the Richards brothers replied.

"All right," Drake looked down at all of them a little too happily. "Let's split you three up into your temporary respective battalions, shall we?"

_**10:15, 01JUN2153  
USS Blackbird Grace: Hangar Bay GenX  
FT Houston, United Sectors World Federation**_

Leech stood, mouth agape, staring dumbfounded at the large hangar where there were dozens of people hard at work. After a rushed and confusing tour of the large ship, 1LT Drake had simply shoved Leech in the direction of the hangar without any real instruction except to find someone named CPT Starsmore. His brother Artie had been sent to Air Defense while Franklin was left to endure Drake's company in Infantry.

Wide-eyed, Leech stood at the large doorway excitedly. He could see and hear machines and drills whirring from every direction, the sounds echoing vibrantly in the large metal hangar. There were a total of nine fighter birds, lining the walls. Each jet had its own crew of at least five or six mechanics. He was suddenly feeling a little intimidated by the personnel who paid him no mind as he stood there. He felt increasing aggravation at his father for making them go through all of this. No other cadet at his academy had to endure such a task. He looked quite out of place in his navy blue cadet uniform against all of the active-duty greens.

Without warning, someone slammed into him and paper scattered everywhere. He stumbled slightly on impact and looked to see who it was. He looked up, startled, and found an Asian girl who couldn't be more than three or four years older than he was.

"Not a great place to stand, Cadet," she said as she bent down to pick up the papers that were scattered. She had startling blue eyes.

"I – I'm sorry!" Leech stuttered, bending down to help her pick up the tangled pages.

Only when he successfully piled a collection of disarrayed papers into her arms did he notice the single black bar on her uniform. She was an officer, despite her apparent youth, and he hadn't yet saluted her.

"_Oh!_" he cringed and threw his arm up in an instant salute. "Ma'am, sorry, Ma'am!"

"Don't sweat it, kid," she said, grinning at him. She returned the salute, and then looked up and down at his uniform. "By the looks of it, you're still fresh meat. It'll slide – for _now_." She laughed when he looked sheepish. "What are you doing here anyway, Cadet?"

"I'm looking for Captain Starsmore, Ma'am," Leech replied.

"Richards, huh?" she asked, cocking her head and eyeing his nametag.

"Yes, ma'am," Leech replied.

"My name's Lee, and as you can see I'm one of the pilots here," the Lieutenant explained. She frowned suddenly. "I thought Cadet Richards was sent to Infantry?" she inquired, peering at him curiously.

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am," Leech said politely. "That's Cadet _Franklin_ Richards, Ma'am, my brother. My name is Leech, Cadet Leech Richards, I mean. My other brother, Cadet _Arthur_ Richards, he was sent to Air Defense Artillery, Ma'am."

1LT Lee could not stifle the giggle that let loose, losing count of how many ma'ams he had thrown into his sentences. She gestured for him to follow her, and he did very obediently. "Exactly how many of you Richards kids are there?"

"Just three, Ma'am," he replied jogging to keep up with her fast pace.

"_Just_? Could have a whole _platoon _with that many," she joked amusedly. "All the same year at the Academy? You guys triplets or somethin'?"

"No, Ma'am," he mumbled. Against his green skin, his cheeks darkened slightly in embarrassment. This type of banter was expected when you were a Commander's son in the military. "Artie and I are adopted."

"Cool," she smiled at him warmly, to his surprise. "I'm adopted, too. By military as well, no less. I'm sure having old Reed Richards' shadow hangin' over your budding military career can't be easy. "

She winked at him, and Leech felt himself warming up to her. "Who's your father, Ma'am?" he asked. "I mean, if it's not too personal a question, Ma'am."

She laughed before answering, as though the answer was very funny. "He's the Command Sergeant Major of this very ship."

"Wolverine?" Leech asked, somehow finding the ability to remember his call sign. His eyes went wide when she nodded in confirmation. At least _his_ father would be _retired_ when the three Richards sons commissioned under active duty. To have a father on the same _ship_ was something he couldn't fathom.

"Don't look so scared for me," Lee laughed at his horrid expression. "Logan's _harmless_, like a big ol' fluffy teddy bear."

Leech looked slightly relieved until he heard someone scoff.

"_Ha!" _

Lee and Leech stopped and turned toward the sound of the voice.

Leech found a Hispanic grey-skinned man who sat on the ground, leaning back against a footlocker. The man was sprawled lazily across the ground with one foot up on another footlocker. He was smoking a cigarette, and wasn't even trying to pretend he wasn't eavesdropping on the conversation. Leech eyed the front of his uniform that held a single golden bar and his name: Second Lieutenant Espinosa.

"I'm sorry, Sir?" Leech addressed him hesitantly.

"Don't listen to the _Chica_," he said to Artie with a cocky grin from where he sat. "She's delusional about the Sergeant Major. He's a real _monster_, that one."

"Watch how ya talk, Espinosa!" Lee spat suddenly, whose sudden change in demeanor startled Leech. Lee took the prime opportunity to kick Espinosa's boot off of one of the footlockers with a large _thud_.

Espinosa cussed quite loudly, and threw up a middle finger.

"Oh, shut it!" Lee rolled her eyes when he called her something Leech was sure meant something derogatory. He watched as she yanked the lit bud from Espinosa's mouth and tossed it to the ground, stomping on it offensively. "An' there's no smoking in the hangar, you dweeb! There's _fuel_ everywhere! You'll light my bird on fire!"

Instinctively, Leech stepped backwards away from the duo.

"That don't stop Lebeau, and he's deck chief!" Espinosa growled.

"Since when is _he_ a role model?" Jubilee demanded.

Leech was actually scared that they might tear each other limb from limb right in front of him. Despite how small she was, Lee seemed to be unafraid of getting into the bigger man's face. Leech was seriously debating whether he should run for it.

"Fighting _again_, children?" a condescending feminine voice spoke up. Leech was startled once more when a dark beauty appeared behind him. Her sharp features were accentuated by her tight standard military bun. He was dumbstruck; this woman was _beautiful_. She looked down at him suddenly and frowned.

"Psionic shielding, Cadet?" she asked suddenly, and he realized that she was a telepath. She must've been unable to pry into his brain due to his mutation.

"No, Ma'am," Leech replied meekly. "My powers dampen other mutant powers, Ma'am." In truth, he hadn't realized he'd done it. He normally had better control, but given the current circumstances…

"Ah," she nodded, seeming to accept his answer without question. "At least you're not like Lieutenant Lee. It's like her brain is _nonexistent _– on numerous levels."

"Why you little-!" Lee gasped at the woman.

Leech didn't hear the rest of her sentence, because someone tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around to find two more pilots, both Second Lieutenants and staring at him amusedly.

"That's St. Croix," the dark male one said, referring to the beautiful first lieutenant Leech had to pry his eyes off of. Leech read his nametag: Thomas. "Sorry you have to witness this, Cadet."

"Really," the female blonde next to him explained, almost as though she were trying to convince herself, "deep down they really _love_ each other." Her voice carried only a hint of a southern accent.

Leech couldn't help the question that slipped out, as he read the woman's nametag: Guthrie. "Are you sure about that, Ma'am?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yes," Guthrie replied firmly, before a shower of brightly colored sparks blinded all three of them followed by a scream. "_Mostly_, anyway."

"So, is her father _really_ that bad, Ma'am?" Leech asked.

"Whose?" Thomas asked. Leech gestured toward Lee, who was currently being held back by St. Croix as she charged a plasma ball in Espinosa's direction. "Oh, _her_. Well, the sergeant major _can_ be a little short-tempered…"

Before them, Espinosa had chucked a rather large footlocker at Lee and St. Croix but missed. Lee escaped St. Croix's arms and pummeled into him, knocking him down. Leech watched in awe as Espinosa's skin stretched and skewed as the two fought in a crumpled heap. St. Croix, on the other hand, had a strangely bored look on her face as she made a half-hearted attempt to untangle her squad mates.

Needless to say, the scuffle already had the entire hangar's attention. The drilling and whirring of machines had stopped and become an amused audience to the tangle of pilots who fought tooth and nail, and several crew members began cheering for their respective pilots noisily.

Leech's expectations on what military life would be like after the academy had become shattered in just a few minutes with these pilots.

"DO YOU LADS 'N LASSIES _EVER_ GIVE IT A REST?" a very tired and angry sounding Irish voice interrupted suddenly. Leech had to rub the side of his head; this man was inhumanly loud. "I c'n hear you lot from all the way from up here!"

Leech looked up toward where the unusually loud voice boomed from. Standing on an upper catwalk of the hangar towered a very rugged and well-built looking man leaning down and glaring icily at all of them. Fiery red hair was disheveled every which way, and he had more than a five-o'clock shadow, which far exceeded military regulations for facial hair. Nevertheless, the man had a very commanding look about him.

At once, Lee, Espinosa, and St. Croix had recollected themselves.

"Sorry, Sir!" Lee called up at him.

Leech noted that none of them actually looked ashamed or sorry. He had a feeling that this type of thing was a common occurrence.

"Don't _lie_ t'me, lassie!" he bellowed down at her. "I know ya aren't sorry! Yer on your _last_ straw, an' I mean it this time!"

Lee smiled back a little too innocently at her superior, as Espinosa tried to blend in with the background. Her cocky grin somehow reminded Leech greatly of 1LT Roberts.

The Irishman's eyes found Leech from where he stood glaring down at them all. "Who's the schoolboy?" he asked sharply and suddenly.

Leech couldn't see a rank, but from the way he spoke this man was definitely a higher up officer. He instantly sprung into a salute and declared, "Sir, Cadet Richards, Sir!"

He tried his best to fight the embarrassment when it seemed the entire hangar was laughing at him. Leech noted again the man's clear disregard for military dress and the fact that no one else was saluting him. Nevertheless, Leech did not break form.

The Irish man raised an eyebrow at Leech's formality once the laughter died down. "C'mon up, lad," he commanded. "The rest o' ye shitheads can keep it down!"

The entire hangar seemed to return to whatever they had previously been doing, machines whirring and drilling again, and Leech let out a low sigh wondering if all hangars were this chaotic. Lee nudged him in the ribs before he could make his way toward the upstairs platform to the Irishman.

"Don't worry," Lee said and smiled at him. Her bun had come undone in the scuffle, and there was a dirt smudge on her cheek. Despite that, her lop-sided grin showed no sign of having been fighting just minutes ago. "Major Cassidy's not always that grouchy. He's tryin' hard to make the launch go smooth. All o'them command dudes are wiggin' out big time this week."

Leech smiled meekly in thanks and made his way up the stairs, wondering briefly if his brothers had to go through anything similar to this.

_**10:35, 01JUN2153  
USS Blackbird Grace: MAJ Cassidy's Command Office, Hangar GenX  
FT Houston, United Sectors World Federation**_

Not five minutes later, Leech found himself standing at attention before Major Sean Cassidy's desk, eyes furrowed in an attempt to burrow the call sign "Banshee" into his memory. Leech had just learned that MAJ Cassidy was the commander of the GenX hangar.

"Relax, lad," Cassidy said gruffly. "Have a seat."

"Yes, Sir," Leech replied as he did what he was told, taking a seat on the battered chair before Cassidy's messy desk.

"Are ye always so frigid, lad?" Cassidy's rough voice asked.

"I don't think so, Sir," Leech replied. "I think I'm just excited to be here."

Cassidy broke into a wicked smile, and to Leech it looked almost sinister. But he had a feeling it was a genuine gesture. "I'm glad t'hear it. Flyin' a bird off this ship is something ye have to be passionate about. Ye'll never be a decent pilot if ye aren't excited to get out there."

"Yes, Sir," Leech agreed, nodding.

"So, ye've met me poor squad of pilots, eh?" he asked, shaking his head. His Irish accent seemed heavier now.

Leech nodded again.

"They're not a bad group once ye get to know 'em, but honestly…" he trailed off as he rubbed his face. He looked Leech square in the face with a small and tired grin and said, "Whatever ye do, Cadet, don't give yer commander so a hard time when ye get yer wings."

Leech cracked a smile.

Just then someone stepped into Cassidy's office without knocking. Leech turned to see a man in his mid-twenties already making his way across the room with some files. He just barely caught a glimpse of this man's rank.

"Ah, Starsmore," Cassidy greeted warmly to the young captain.

"Sir," the man greeted in an old English accent, his face expressionless. Leech thought his voice sounded rather rough, as though he were not used to using it.

Cassidy addressed the man, "This here is Cadet Leech Richards. You know his father, yes?"

"Yes, sir," Starsmore replied, then turning address Leech. "I met your father on several formal occasions. He speaks quite highly of you, all three of you."

"Cadet Richards," Cassidy continued, "This is Captain Starsmore. I believe you are to report to him at this time?"

"Pleased to meet you, Sir," Leech said as he rose from his seat to take Starsmore's hand.

He noted that Starsmore had very severe scarring along his lower jaw, and his neck was hidden by a loose black scarf. Had Leech not been naturally green-skinned and bald, he would've been more curious as to how Starsmore had acquired the scars. The thought left his mind before he could even complete it.

"Richards here was just telling me how excited he is about being a future pilot for the USWF," Cassidy beamed.

"Is that so?" Starsmore said again, his scarred jaw tugging into a smile. "Then you've come to the right place to get a kick-start on your career, I'd say."

Leech beamed again in excitement.

"Before the two of ye run off and forget, what did ye come in for, Jono?" Cassidy asked.

"Ah," Starsmore explained as he opened the file that he'd originally placed on Cassidy's desk, "Synch's bird has a small fuel leak."

Leech peered over curiously and saw scaled-down blueprints of a very sleek and beautiful fighter bird. He stared admiringly, momentarily imagining himself in the cockpit of one.

"Again?" Cassidy frowned. He suddenly looked older than Leech remembered. "I thought we fixed that. I guess he'll have to use a primary substitute for the launch tomorrow. The lad certainly won't be pleased to hear it."

"No, I wouldn't be either, Sir," Starsmore agreed.

"How many emergency birds have we got righ' now?" Cassidy asked.

"Just three, Sir," Starsmore replied. "The new shipments won't be ready for at least three weeks…"

"Say no more," Cassidy groaned. He glanced at Leech momentarily and said, "Always assume that every little thing will go wrong before a big event, lad. That way ye'll be ready when it happens!"

"Er, yes, Sir," Leech nodded.

"C'mon, Leech," Starsmore beckoned as he headed toward the door to exit. "I'll show you around after we run some errands."

Leech got up and followed, but Starsmore stopped suddenly and looked at Cassidy.

"Will you be joining us later tonight, Sir?" he asked, without specifying what he was referring to. Leech was curious.

Cassidy looked up at Starsmore grim-faced. "No, I don't think so, Lad. Too much t'do before the launch. I'm at wit's end as it is."

Starsmore nodded understandingly. "Got it. We'll see you, Sir."

As Leech followed Starsmore out of Cassidy's office, he wondered to what event Cassidy could not make.

_**20:55, 01JUN2153  
USS Blackbird Grace: GenX Quarters' Common Room  
FT Houston, United Sectors World Federation**_

The day had seemed to pass quickly since Leech's introduction to the squad. He hadn't yet had time to touch base with his brothers, but he was beginning to feel more comfortable. Today he'd met more personnel than he could remember, and saw more of a Battleship than he had ever been allowed under the company of his father. He was given a bunk in the pilots' quarters for temporary use, an assignment to the deck chief Lebeau for tomorrow's launch, and a full belly at chow.

Leech, Starsmore, Espinosa, Guthrie, Thomas, and St. Croix were now gathered around GenX's squad common room table. Several poker chips piled near each individual indicated they were in the middle of a tournament. Espinosa's and Thomas's disorderly uniforms indicated that the game had erupted out of control at some point. Leech was the only one who looked unruffled and unscratched among the normally rowdy group.

The door of the common room was thrown open noisily and Lee marched with a broad grin. "Ball's fuck!" she announced merrily as she stomped toward their table and interrupted their tournament.

Leech blinked confusedly as her words as she jittered around the table excitedly from chair to chair, where the other five pilots were losing focus on the game.

"Last one, right?" Starsmore asked, looking up from his hand.

"Yep!" she replied, making her way to the mini fridge in the corner and beginning to stock up on liquor. Leech frowned; he had a feeling those weren't allowed on the ship. He also had an inkling that she didn't care. Lee proceeded to pile several beers into a backpack.

"I'm _definitely_ in then," Starsmore declared with finality and cleared his throat. He threw down his cards, and his chair scraped noisily as he stood.

"_Yo tambi__é__n_," Espinosa added as he tossed his own hand into the folded pile on the table.

"What about our game?" Thomas demanded, annoyed. He was down a heavy amount of chips and seemed determined to earn his money back.

"Ball's fuck," Starsmore remarked with what Leech thought was meant to be a smile as Thomas rolled his eyes. Starsmore gestured to Thomas and Guthrie. "Don't suppose _you_ two want to come along?"

"Only if you change the name of it," Guthrie sighed pompously. "You know I don't go to those."

"Sam'll be there!" Lee declared, still kneeling by the fridge in the corner of the room. She stuffed a .40 unceremoniously into Starsmore's arms. He took it without fighting.

"No, thanks," Guthrie replied dryly, throwing her cards down and indicating the end of their tournament.

"I'm afraid I'll be sitting this one out as well," St. Croix put in. "I've got a briefing at 0600 with Major Grey. I'm off to bed soon."

"Ball's fuck," Espinosa muttered at her as he grabbed his jacket. "No one else?"

"Well, _you're_ too young," Jubilee said to Leech with an apologetic smile, patting him affectionately on his bald head as she passed him.

Leech watched curiously as she and Starsmore followed Espinosa out. He noted the crestfallen look on Guthrie's face as Starsmore's arm draped around Lee's shoulders.

"I know what you're thinking, Paige," St. Croix said to Guthrie once their teammates were out of hearing range, as she began to shuffle the deck of cards idly. "It's not like that."

"Damn telepaths," Guthrie muttered, glaring at St. Croix.

"Don't have to be a telepath to see that you _like_ him, Paige," Thomas remarked with an all-too-understanding smile.

Leech agreed silently, not feeling comfortable enough to voice his opinion to people who he'd just met. It was obvious to him after spending the evening with them that Paige Guthrie was rather smitten with their field leader.

"They're _always_ together," Guthrie complained. "I love Jubilee, I really do. But she and Jono are always… _together_. He doesn't talk to us like he talks to _her_."

"They go way back though, don't they?" Thomas asked St. Croix. "You've been here almost a year longer than us, M. You know 'em better."

St. Croix folded her hands contemplatively, and looked back at them as though not sure whether to divulge such information. Finally, she said, "They've known each other a long time, even before they went to the same Academy and graduated the same year. They're really good _friends_." She paused and eyed Guthrie pointedly. "Nothing more."

"See?" Thomas smiled at Guthrie, satisfied. "You got nothin' to worry about. He's a free agent."

Guthrie was quiet for a moment, before she looked up and glared at the three of them. "You guys better not say a word!" she demanded. She looked at Leech, the youngest and most unfamiliar face in the room, and said, "And that's an order!"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Thomas replied.

"Yes, Ma'am," Leech nodded.

"It's already lost amongst numerous other non-life-affecting secrets I intend keep," St. Croix drawled in a bored tone.

Leech cleared his throat, curiosity finally getting the better of him.

"So what exactly did Lieutenant Lee say I was too young for?" Leech asked, changing the subject.

Thomas threw a look at Guthrie before they both replied in unison, "Ball's fuck."

"What's – ball's _fuck_?" Leech inquired hesitantly, his voice straining to get out the last word.

"It's a very unofficial, very _off-the-record_ and probably _illegal_ meeting for people who don't give one," Thomas explained vaguely.

"Give one of _what_?" Leech frowned at the terrible explanation.

"It's for people who don't give a _ball's fuck_," Thomas finished, "about anything."

"Get it now?" Guthrie asked him.

"I think so," Leech replied. "So, what? Officers get together and drink?"

"A little more and a little less," Thomas said. "Anyone can go as long as they're invited, officer or enlisted. There's no rank in ball's fuck. You just _go_."

"But _why_?" Leech asked, still not quite understanding.

St. Croix, who had been a quiet listener on the subject up until now, leaned forward and looked Leech in the eyes. "It's for people who are sometimes pissed at the hand life dealt them; people who pretend not to give a _ball's fuck_, even though they really do, about bad things that've happened. So they get together and drink the pain away like alcoholic maniacs."

"That's a little harsh," Guthrie said, frowning. "_You_ go to ball's fuck every now and then, after all. And my brother Sam, too."

"Well, it's the _truth_," St. Croix offered, giving them a sad but honest smile. She got up without another word and left the common room.

_**21:00, 01JUN2153  
USS Blackbird Grace: Commander's Quarters  
Houston, Texas, United Sectors World Federation**_

The man sat alone in his study, a frown etched across his aged face. He drummed his fingers silently on his desk as his frown deepened. His other hand grazed the side of his hairless head absentmindedly. It was a very typical gesture that many close to him had come to know as a sign of extreme worry.

The study was unnaturally quiet tonight, whereas usually he had people coming and going in and out of his private office for issues to be addressed. But tonight Commander Charles Xavier needed quiet. Upon receipt of vital information several hours ago, he had forbidden visitors to his private office.

With the upcoming launch and the year-long deployment ahead of them, this very recent and very discreet news had been quite unsettling. He craved no company except that of two men, whose arrival he was currently waiting patiently for.

A sharp buzzer at the door of his private quarters startled him. Normally, he was not so easily caught off guard being a powerful telepath; he was usually keen on nearby presences, even if he didn't try to be. But the matter at hand required all his attention. Collecting himself, he reached below his desk and pressed a button to let them in.

Moments later, two men stepped inside his office. A tall rigid man with ruby visors nodded curtly as he led the way inside. Behind him a shorter man who made up for his stature in muscle mass lurched after him.

"Professor," the ruby-visored man greeted courteously. His strict military-cut hairstyle accentuated the jaw that was tightened in a manner that Xavier knew quit well.

"Scott," Xavier greeted with a slightly amused smile to his Executive Officer, LTC Scott Summers. It was in Xavier's nature to greet these two gentlemen on a more personal basis when in private.

"Sir," the shorter man greeted his seated commander. Next to summers, he looked positively feral. His hair was far too long on top, and his sideburns grew too low. If he had not been in uniform, a random passerby would assume him of a wild uncontrollable sort, which he was. CSM James Logan's facial expression bore the remnants of smugness, a sure sign that he was pleased at somehow rubbing Summers the wrong way.

It did not take a telepath to know that the two men had been arguing. About what, Xavier was unsure. However, he was not concerned about it. Though the two men did not get along well outwardly, he knew they were good for each other.

Summers was a very by-the-book individual, which was very important to get by in the military. Logan on the other hand tended to stray off the beaten path now and then, going wherever necessary to complete a mission even if it meant bending the rules. A great ship such as the Blackbird Grace needed a good balance of both attributes. Summers and Logan leveled each other out quite reasonably, Xavier thought, even though they did not seem to think so.

"Logan," Xavier began in a tone that the short man knew quite well, "I assume that since the launch is tomorrow at 1100, you already have barber's appointment scheduled before then?"

"Yes, Sir," Logan replied with a toothy grin. "Can't help it. Hair grows like weed on me, you know that."

"Nevertheless," Xavier said, "as a leader it wouldn't hurt to set an example." He paused before continuing. "And now that I come to think of it, it would benefit us all if you were to recommend your barber to Major Cassidy as well."

"Understood, Sir," Logan responded with a gruff smile. Next to him, Summers rolled his eyes at the shorter man's sarcastic tone.

"Have a seat, gentlemen," Xavier began in a more serious tone. They each took a chair in front of his desk. "I have called you here for a last minute briefing in light of new intelligence. Let us, for the sake of morale across this ship, allow others assume this meeting has to do with the launch tomorrow."

"So this briefing has nothing to do with the deployment?" Summers asked, surprised. Logan shifted as well. As of late, _everything_ had to do with the upcoming launch. Normally it would be unwise to focus on anything else. Whatever was bothering Xavier must something worth being concerned over.

"Yes and no, Scott," Xavier began. He began to drum his fingers absentmindedly again as he thought of how to relay his newfound information. "I am sure you're aware that the President of the USWF and I have clashed occasionally?"

"Pretty sure the whole world is aware, Professor," Logan remarked bitterly at the thought of the President. It was not an unknown fact that Xavier often disagreed with President Geoffrey Pinewall's actions.

Xavier chuckled. "Among just the three of us, we already agree that President Pinewall has less than altruistic ideas when it comes to running the United Sectors."

"You're too kind, Sir," Summers remarked. "The man is hell bent on starting another world war. He'd do anything in his power to become some greatly-worshipped war leader."

"Which is precisely why I have called you here," Xavier frowned. "A personal informant of mine has enlightened me on goings-on within the confines of Pinewall's planning committee. This informant has pressed upon me grave and startling news: Pinewall's committee may be planning an attack against the ship – a conspiracy, if you will."

"An attack on the Blackbird Grace? _Why?_" Logan demanded.

"We suspect it would achieve exactly as we know Pinewall has always wanted: to start another world war," Xavier explained. "The attack, if it were to happen, would likely take place while we are touring the perimeter of Earth."

"How would Pinewall's minions start a world war by attacking us?" Summers inquired. "What would it achieve? It would start a mutiny of the people against him, wouldn't it?"

"That's exactly it, then, isn't it?" Logan muttered, realizing what this meant. "They wouldn't be attacking this ship as Pinewall's minions… They'd be disguised as someone else."

"The northeastern sector," Summers concluded with a shake of the head. It was quite obvious that President Pinewall's prejudice against the northeastern sector's residents the Rushiyas, who were descendants of Eastern Europe, was widely known. "He'd want to start the war against them."

Xavier nodded and asked, "And what better way is there to ensure a world war than to eliminate the loudest opposing voice to such a violent option?"

"It would make sense in Pinewall's deranged lil' head, wouldn't it?" Logan thought out loud. "To get rid of you, the man who makes him out to be a fool, _and_ get his world war glory."

"And my only regret," Xavier voiced his guilt, something he would not do in front of any other individuals on this ship, "is that my strong opposition against Pinewall's war pursuits may very well have put this ship and its entire crew in grave danger."

"Excuse my language, but that is _bullshit_, Professor," Logan remarked.

"Another man's psychotic tendencies reflect nothing on you," Summers added.

Xavier smiled genuinely. "While I admire your undying loyalty, it does not hinder the conflict at hand. My informant seemed quite distressed upon confiding the news. Therefore, I'm afraid that the likelihood of this attack is great."

"Who exactly is this informant, Professor?" Summers asked anxiously.

"I wish not to divulge that information, Scott, as this person has taken great personal risk just to let me know that there _may_ be some sort of conspiracy in the works."

"Understood," Summers resigned. He paused before asking, "When do you think it will happen – if it does at all, sir?"

Xavier grimaced, a look that was unsettling on their leader's face.

"The bottom line is this," Xavier explained evenly, "the world's eyes will be upon us tomorrow and the next three weeks as we make this launch. Camera crews and news anchors will be covering our publically viewed launch for the next three weeks. I imagine a great way for Pinewall to spawn support from the people is to have something go awry in the public eye. If not very soon, then we should assume it would be during some type of publicized event to do with the USS Blackbird Grace." He paused. "You understand my growing concern then, gentlemen?"

"Yes, sir," Summers and Logan replied in unison.

"Despite these qualms," Xavier continued, "I am confident in the leadership and training bestowed upon this crew - everyone from Infantry and Maintenance to Defense, and of course to our dear _Pilots_." His eyes lingered on Logan knowingly, as his adopted daughter was a pilot for the very same ship.

"Should we inform the crew, Sir?" Summers asked hesitantly.

"I do not believe so," Xavier shook his head, "Not until I hear again from my informant. There's no need to stir up _more_ grievances toward the President at this time; the launch itself is causing more stress than necessary. The information I have just given you does not leave my office. I do, however, wish for both of you to be on full alert. If need be, the crew will ready itself in no time. Our vigilant training has ensured that."

"Yes, sir," came the unified reply.

"For now, I would like both of you to retire for the evening. I imagine our sleep will be disrupted before the night is over, after all. We can always assume something will go wrong before a launch."

"Thank you, sir," Summers said as he stood.

Logan made to follow Summers out of Xavier's office when the commander stopped him. "Just a few moments of your time, Logan?" he asked politely. He turned back to Scott and said, "Give my kindest regards to Jean, would you, Scott?"

"Of course, Sir," Summers said before he stepped out of the office leaving Xavier and Logan alone.

Logan looked at the other man expectantly until Xavier finally spoke, "I take it as the last night before deployment begins that there is an unofficial group therapy meeting of the alcoholic nature tonight?"

Logan nodded in silent confirmation.

"Normally," Xavier continued, "you must agree that I am rather lenient when it comes to these social events. However, in light of tonight's news-"

Logan cut him off. "Consider it canceled, Professor."

Xavier smiled in thanks and explained further, "I'd rather the more influential members of our crew _not_ be incoherent or hung over while we're on alert."

"Agreed," Logan nodded.

"I do have one other issue to discuss with you," Xavier changed the subject politely. "How has young Jubilation been faring in the past month?"

"Kid's all right," Logan replied with a great sigh. "Less angry, I think."

"I knew it would be hard on her," Xavier said as he shook his head regretfully. "I hope she understands _why_ I put off her promotion to Captain?"

"I think she's startin' to get it," Logan remarked.

"On the contrary to what she may believe, I have always thought that she has the makings of an _excellent_ field leader in the sky. But as of right now, she's simply too _young_. Getting into a Service Academy had been quite a feat at the age of sixteen. But at twenty-two, I am reluctant to hand over a leadership position of dire importance – even though I know she could handle it. She will get where she wants to so badly to be… eventually. She has, without a doubt, grown up far too quickly and is more capable of things we may have never before thought. I had hoped that perhaps she could use this dwell time to let her age to catch up with her current professional position. Do you understand?"

"You don't have to explain that to _me_, Sir," Logan said.

"Her rebellious tendencies haven't helped much," Xavier elaborated. "Verbal and physical altercations keep erupting around her. I think it is safe to assume that there's a direct correlation between Jubilee and the numerous black eyes that keep popping up among her flight squadron mates."

"No argument there," Logan agreed as he scratched the back of his head almost sheepishly. "Though I can't say I've been the greatest influence on her."

"I'm glad you're able to acknowledge that," Xavier said with an amused smile. "But do not underestimate everything that you have done for her. She has turned out very well. She'll go far, and she has you to thank for that."

"Appreciate the sentiment, Professor," Logan replied gruffly and awkwardly. "Though there ain't many people aboard this crew who would agree."

"That may be true, but I think the person whose opinion matters the most in this regard is Jubilation."

Logan nodded.

"I'll see you on the command deck at 0400, Logan." The finality in Xavier's tone meant that their meeting was over.

"I'll be there, sir," Logan said as he got up to leave.

_**21:30, 01JUN2153  
USS Blackbird Grace: Lower Deck Storage Cargo Bay  
FT Houston, United Sectors World Federation**_

Lee, Starsmore, and Espinosa were some of the last people to arrive at the storage facility of the lower bay of the ship. Weaving between a maze of large cargo units, they arrived at a small opening hidden among the boxes. In the middle of the clearing was a long table with several chairs. At each of the chairs around the table, there were three shot glasses already filled.

"Sweet, we're already charged!" Espinosa exclaimed as he claimed a spot at the table.

"Was a lil' eager to get started, _Ami_," his Deck Chief, Lebeau, greeted him from his seat next to SSG Katherine Pryde. Clearly he'd begun his own celebration without them. "Last day o' legal alcohol an' all b'fore deployment. Gambit counts on some people _always_ bein' late."

"Where's Logan?" Lee whined, looking around as she took a seat between Starsmore and Espinosa.

Across the table from her, 1SG Lucas Bishop answered her. "Wolverine's got a private briefing with the Professor and Cyclops - official business apparently. He'll be here when he can. Where are M and Banshee?"

Lee pouted, making her look far younger than her twenty-two years. "Monet's being a prissy square, and Banshee's losing more hair over the parade launch. I don't think he'll make it tonight. What about Bobby?"

"Why so interested in Drake?" Pryde teased, narrowing her eyes at Lee. Beside her, SFC Piotr Rasputin frowned in a disapproving big brother sort of way.

Lee went red instantly. "I asked about _Logan_ too, ya know!"

Pryde laughed, but replied anyway, "Last I saw Drake, he was trailin' around with one of the Richards cadets."

"You guys got one in Infantry too?" Lee asked. "Wow, Leech wasn't kidding. There _are_ sixty million of 'em!"

"We have the third brother in Defense," SFC Samuel Guthrie added. "The pink one. Nice kid, kinda shy."

"We'll just 'ave to get started without 'em then," Espinosa concluded with a smile, referring to Logan and Drake. He stood up and raised his first shot glass. "Bishop, you wanna-"

A loud _thud!_ cut him off sharply and a blur of ice slammed into the table, wobbling all of the shot glasses.

"I'M HERE!" a very white-faced 1LT Robert Drake gasped suddenly, deicing himself and falling limply into a chair while gasping for breath.

At Drake's entrance Pryde threw a teasing smile at Lee, who glared daggers back. The exchange went completely unnoticed by Drake.

"'Bout time, Drake," Espinosa glared as he reached for a glass. "We'll get the usual out of the way first. Bish, wanna do the honors?"

"Thought I was – gonna – be late!" Drake added unnecessarily in gasps. He held his chest as though to steady himself.

Bishop rolled his eyes and cleared his throat before he stood, and the rest of the group followed suit. "Let us begin the toasts: To the President of the United Sectors of the World Federation."

He paused when several people rolled their eyes and did not drink.

"To the USS Blackbird Grace, and to our fellow crewmates, past and present," he concluded.

To this statement, they drank the first shot together. All at once, an ungracefully noisy _bang! _rang out as they slammed their empty shot glasses onto the table. Each picked up a new one.

"To General Charles Xavier, Commander of the USS Grace."

More shorts were taken. And another collective _bang!_ rang out.

"Roll call," Bishop said as he turned and looked at his bulky friend Rasputin. It was tradition to call upon each member to toast a ball's fuck. "Piotr? Would you like to start us off?"

The heavy man's jaw tightened as he raised his glass to the heavens, and Pryde placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "To children of war, whose lost innocence is not easily forgotten."

Next to him, Lebeau raised his shot and added, "To love dat dies before it can truly blossom." His voice was already slurred.

"To the jerk who stole the last piece of chocolate cake at Chow tonight," Espinosa muttered.

"To no more than four hours of sleep every night in preparation of this damn launch," Pryde threw in with false cheeriness.

"To no more than _two_," Starsmore grinned, winking at the woman who stuck her tongue out at him mockingly.

"To promotion that will never come my way," Lee sighed dejectedly.

"To prohibition laws during deployment," Samuel Guthrie moaned miserably.

"To you assholes here before me, who interfere daily with my struggling sobriety," Drake declared heartily, apparently having recovered from his sprint.

The remaining shot glasses were raised higher momentarily before they were slammed down onto the table, now empty.

_**21:45, 01JUN2153  
USS Blackbird Grace: Lower Deck Storage Cargo Bay  
FT Houston, United Sectors World Federation**_

Logan had been watching them from the darkness throughout the toasts. He was leaning against one of the cargo units, allowing them a few last shots before he would break up the party.

"How sweet," his gruff voice interrupted their good times sarcastically. They turned toward the sound of his voice. "You punks started the pow-wow without me."

"Wolvie!" Lee cried out happily upon Logan's appearance.

"Don't look so happy to see me," he said regretfully. "Got some bad news for you folks. The show's over."

"But we _just_ started-!" Espinosa began to argue above the loud mix of groans and muttering.

Bishop sighed. "You heard the man," he said sternly to Espinosa, silently daring him to continue. The younger man made no move to fight and stood in silent mutiny.

"Everyone, pack it up and get up to your quarters," Logan said. "Got a big day tomorrow."

Logan nodded a silent thanks to Bishop before he caught Lee's eye. She frowned in concern. She could read him better than he understood himself. He watched as she helped the others out by stacking shot glasses and gathering liquor into bags.

Ten very reluctant minutes later, the room cleared of everyone but himself, Lee, and Starsmore.

"What's wrong, Wolvie?" she asked seriously. She swayed gently despite the seriousness of her voice; three quick shots had been more than enough on a lightweight with a faster-than-lightning metabolism.

He smiled at her perceptiveness as Starsmore turned away from father and daughter politely. "Nothin'," he lied to her under his breath.

He knew she knew he was lying, but she understood when not to press. Instead, she raised an eyebrow disbelievingly and placed a hand on her hips – instantly giving him a flash back of the eleven-year-old orphan he'd once rescued off the streets.

"Get to yer quarters, Jubes," he said in a no-argument tone. "You too, Jono."

"On it," Jono said as Lee rolled her eyes. But she nodded compliantly nonetheless as she swung her backpack over a shoulder and turned to follow Jono out.

"And Jubes?" Logan called out. She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him. "_Be good._"

Her eyebrows creased in confusion at the severity of his voice. The two words he had just used was their secret code, a phrase that secretly meant there may be serious danger. What came out sounding like a disciplinary threat from father to daughter was actually a warning to keep on her toes and stay alert.

Lee nodded again comprehendingly at him before she disappeared from view, understanding that she was not to relay any of his concern to others.

Logan frowned to himself once he was left alone in the darkness of the Cargo Bay. Tomorrow was going to be a long ass day, even without the added concern of a potential attack upon their vessel. He just hoped that the USS Blackbird Grace and its crew could live up to the high expectations of their commander.


End file.
